Campy Campers

I'll be the first to admit that I hate camping. There's a line in the old "Parent Trap" (starring Haley Mills)movie that I have related to my whole life..."Get me out of this stinkin' fresh air!" And that's not to say I hate fresh air. On the contrary. Or being outside. For example, when I am sitting in a lovely yacht. (okay, haven't done that often...except for those few blissful years growing up when my Grandpa had one..) Or when I am laying on a white sandy beach next to a glorious ocean tide. Even growing up, visiting my mom's parent's house on the lake, I appreciated the every night bonfires by the water, under the clear night skies, roasting marshmallows and popping popcorn. I adore sunshine and summer, I relish going on vacation to warm destinations.

I don't know, maybe I can blame it to being the eldest of 4 sisters, and one baby brother. We really had no logical reason to camp. My views on camping were solidified back around the young teenage years, when as a young woman, our church encouraged us to go to a "young women's summer camp". This WONDERFUL (note extreme sarcasm) camp was filled with lovely things, like dirty wood floored "cabins" covered by large canvas tops, and slimy-floored/stinky group bathrooms. NO electricity. Enough said there.

For fun filled activities, we could learn some fascinating tidbits about first aid, or digging a latrine in the ground, should the emergency arise where you or someone close to you need to go so badly that your first hand latrine digging skills will be cherished. At parties for years, you be complimented. "If it wasn't for Rachel and her expert latrine digging that day I don't know how Aunt Marge would have made it." Another precious skill was learning how to properly make a "bed roll" -which to this day I can't properly explain what exactly that is.

Don't even get me started on the cuisine. I mean, being taught how to cook randomly mixed goulash wrapped in a tinfoil packet WAS tempting...but even in my younger years I knew what tasted good. And the semi-warmed, partially scorchingly hot- over the fire GOULASH wasn't one of them. Suffice it to say, in all her motherly wisdom, my mother did NOT force me to go back to camp year after excruciating year like many other mothers I knew. I loved her for that. I had survived 2 years of it and any more ...well, who knows the nightmares I'd still be having today had I gone further.

Let me also affirm that as I have grown up I do know there are certain things that could be seen as "fun" while camping, that maybe I was just tainted by a nasty frightening experience as a young woman. But when I have a moment free, and I am missing a great roasted marshmallow, we just light all the candles in the house, grab a stainless steel skewer, and fill it with mini marshmallows. A tasty treat without the cold,damp,midnight hassles.

Direct quote from Lena tonight, "Mom, maybe I could work at a cafe and roast marshmallows for people, and serve them desserts like donuts and little cakes." - I can just see it now... a little five year old walking to each table and roasting marshmallows over a crackling fire...serving them up with a graham cracker and chocolate on the side.